Bride turned pale and took a backward step. That aspect of the case had not struck her before.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, with a little gasp, and was silent, trying to take it all in. Oh, that blind, misguided nature, warped and deformed by unreasoning and unreasonable hatred! How had the springs of nobility lying latent there been poisoned at their very source! How had the man’s whole career been blasted and shattered through the entering in of that demon of jealousy and hatred, which had gradually struggled with and overpowered every other emotion, and become absolute master of the man! And there had been a time when Saul had been spoken of as a youth of such promise. Alas! how had that promise been fulfilled?
Bride and the clergyman stood facing each other in silence, the morning sunshine lying in broad bands across the paved floor of the hall, and the sounds of life from without speaking cheerful things of the awakening day. The butler came forward and broke the spell of silent musing by informing his young mistress that breakfast had been carried in, but that His Grace was still resting after the fatigues of the night, and did not wish to be disturbed.
“Then you will breakfast with me, Mr. Tremodart,” said Bride, “and then we will ask for fresh news of the patients.”
The meal was a silent one, but both stood in need of refreshment and felt strengthened by it. At the conclusion Bride rose up, and looking at her companion said—
“Will you come with me? I am going to ask news of him at his door. Perhaps, if he is conscious, he will like to see you. I fear his life will be in danger for some time. He may feel the need of your presence.”
“I—I—hardly know whether I could help him if such were the case,” answered Mr. Tremodart, always rather nervous at the prospect of being called upon for spiritual ministrations, especially by those of the educated and superior classes. He was not a man of ready speech, and felt his deficiency greatly. “Perhaps Mr. St. Aubyn would come,” he suggested. “I think he knows Mr. Marchmont better than I.”
“I think it is likely he will come when he hears,” answered Bride; “but we belong to you too, Mr. Tremodart, and at least you will come and hear the news from the sick-room?”
He was very anxious to do so, and followed the girl up the staircase and along the corridors. Bride paused at length at a half-open door. It led into a pleasant room furnished as a study, and beyond it was the bedroom, from which proceeded a quiet murmur of voices.
Bride held her breath to listen. Was it Eustace speaking? No, she thought it was the doctor; but was there not a still lower voice, a mere whisper? or was it only the beating of her heart?